


36 Hours

by The_Buzz



Series: Advent Calendar [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caring Dean, Cas Whump, Comfort, Demons, Eventual Castiel/Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Guilty Dean Winchester, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season 9, Slight Dean/Cas - Freeform, Slow Build, Subtle Dean/Cas, The epilogue is essentially its own story, Torture, Tortured Castiel, depressed Cas, human cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-14 15:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Buzz/pseuds/The_Buzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas is captured from the Gas-N-Sip by demons, he's sure that Dean won't come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete and will be posted over the next week or so. Enjoy!

The cell phone alarm clock went off at 5:30, like it always, did, and Cas grabbed it sleepily and turned the sound off. It was amazing how much sleep a human body needed—the five or six hours he got on the floor of the stock room never seemed to be enough.

Today, on top of feeling the usual exhaustion that seemed to come with being human, Cas was sore. Once the phone had stopped blaring at him he rolled back, pulling the sleeping bag around him again, ignoring the hardness of the concrete against his back. His encounter with Ephram had left him badly bruised, and his wrist in particular was swollen and stiff, with a long discoloration tracking up the side, which made it more difficult to work the smoothie machine—he’d made three mistakes yesterday. He had no desire to move, let alone to make himself presentable and spend the day tending to the little store. He was simply too tired, and every part of him ached.

Normally, he felt more enthusiasm about the Gas-N-Sip. Not only did providing food and services to his fellow humans seem an honorable thing to do, the work allowed him to eat every day and (if you counted the stock room) even gave him a place to spend the night. It had taken nearly all of his ingenuity to learn how to look for a job, and to put together all of the pieces he needed to acquire this one—the false information for the application, the clothes for the interview, understanding what exactly _happened_ at an interview, and enough knowledge of retail and food service to convince Nora that he would be worth hiring. He’d even felt a little bit of pride that he’d managed to do so while sleeping in the park and subsisting, mainly, on the meager and often questionable food other humans had discarded.

But Dean’s words had stung. _You’re better than this_. The truth was, he wasn’t better than this. This was the best he could do. It was just that until Dean had come, he hadn’t realized that he was supposed to be.

Cas dragged himself to his feet and rolled up the sleeping bag carefully, stowing it out of the way, wincing as his stiff wrist moved. He brushed his teeth and washed himself and shaved in the store bathroom. He put on his vest and buttoned it carefully with one hand, then looked at himself in the mirror for a few moments, as he did every morning. He reminded himself that he had dealt with solitude for billions of years and it had never bothered him; he had found a place in the human world and learned many things and he was proud of it; and Dean had seen how he lived and he had looked down on Cas and he’d left him again. He blinked at his reflection, feeling like his throat was tight and his eyes were burning.

He spun around on his heel and walked out into the store. There was no sense dwelling on what Dean had thought. He still needed to procure enough money to survive, and to provide food and services to the Gas-N-Sip customers. It was silent and empty, and everything was off, almost like the store itself was still sleeping.

He engrossed in powering up the smoothie machine (carefully, carefully, because he couldn’t afford to make another mess though his wrist throbbed when he twisted the knobs) when he became aware—through a sort of visceral, prickling sensation as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up—that he wasn’t alone.

He spun around and found himself face to face with two black-eyed men and a woman.

“I’m sorry, we’re not open yet,” Cas said, for lack of any better way to greet a group of hostile-looking demons. Plus, there was always the chance that they had stopped for some sort of snack before going on with their evil demonic business.

The demons strode forward and one grabbed each of his arms roughly. Or perhaps not.

“Where are you taking me?” Cas asked, looking between them. Had he been an angel he could have attempted to fight them, but now their strength far outmatched his, and all he could do was try to reason his way out. And for that he needed information. “Do you work for Crowley? Do you—“ He finished his question in a dingy warehouse, where the demons had just teleported him. “—want something from me?”

The demon in a large, male, vessel that currently had his right arm in a vice grip chuckled. “Not from you.”

Before he could answer the demons manhandled him to a set of chains that had been strung up to a pipe on the ceiling and locked his wrists into heavy manacles. Cas gritted his teeth as the heavy metal tugged on his sore wrist, and found himself thinking, _I’m going to miss my shift. I may lose my job_. Nora was very strict about missed shifts.

Of course, that would only be a problem if he survived. He gasped in pain and the demons hauled on the other end of the chain, pulling him up so that he was suspended by his wrists. The wrist that had been simply stiff and throbbing dully for days began blazing with pain as soon as his weight was suspended from it, and he gasped at the sudden severity of it. He’d always been aware that humans were fragile, but being trapped in a human body like this, where a limb mildly injured days ago could cause him so much pain now, was unbearably frustrating.

“What do you want?” he demanded. They didn’t answer.

The third demon, in the vessel of a tall woman, had produced a small object, which Cas recognized a few seconds later as his own cell phone. Usually, he unplugged it from where it charged in the stockroom overnight and brought it into the store with him (because maybe Dean _would_ call, one of these days, and invite him back to live in the bunker with him), but since Dean’s visit he’d hardly seen the point. Dean had only come to see him because Cas had told him there was a case, and had left as soon as there wasn’t one.

The demon poked at his phone, then held it up to Cas’s cheek. He could hear it ringing softly.

“Get Dean Winchester back here,” the demon said. “Don’t tell him about us.”

Cas waited as the phone rang, torn between two options. On the one hand, he wanted Dean to know there were demons plotting against him, so he had to tell him something. On the other hand, he didn’t want Dean to walk into a trap, which Dean might very well do if he were made aware of the demons. As the phone rang, and rang, he decided—he needed to keep Dean as far away as he could. If the demons failed here, they would have to come to Dean, and Dean would likely be more than capable of handling them on his own terms. He wasn’t at all surprised when Dean didn’t pick up, and the phone went straight to voicemail.

“Hello, Dean,” he said haltingly, aware the demons were poised to hurt him as soon as he said something not to their liking. “It was…good to see you. It would be…I would like to see you again. If you wouldn’t mind.”

The demon pulled the phone away, and ended the message, and Cas tried not to smile triumphantly. The demons didn’t know that Dean would never come just because Cas wanted him to. They had probably found him by tracking Dean to the Gas-N-Sip, and assumed that Dean visited often. They’d have no way of knowing that Dean hadn’t really even come to see him at all.

The triumphant feeling was beginning to slide into the familiar crushing loneliness, and Cas closed his eyes for a moment.

“Going to sleep on us?” the demon asked, giving Cas a shove. It movement tugged sharply on his damaged wrist and Cas gave an involuntary cry, eyes flying open. He watched the demons warily, his breathing still shaky.

“He startles easy,” the big demon snorted, prodding at him again. This time, Cas was ready, and he bit down on his exclamation of pain. He tried to maneuver so that his weight was mostly hanging on his other wrist, but his feet barely touched the ground and it was nearly impossible.

“Go on, have some fun with him,” the female demon said. “Just make sure there’s enough of him left that he can call the Winchester again in a few days, if need be.” Then she turned around and left Cas with the others.

Cas glared at them, feeling utterly, and disturbingly, vulnerable. _At least Dean will be safe_ , he reminded himself, but that thought was only chased by the harsher truth, _because Dean doesn’t care at all about me_. He’d tried to avoid thinking about this too much, over the long months he’d spent scrambling to survive on his own, particularly in the difficult weeks before he’d acquired the Gas-N-Sip job. If Dean cared about him, he wouldn’t have left him alone to scavenge from dumpsters and shiver through long nights alone in the park. He wouldn’t have sent him away without any of the things the Winchesters used for money or identification, their credit cards and fake IDs. Sometimes, Cas even allowed himself to imagine what it might’ve been like if Dean had helped him find a motel room of his own, using one of his own credit cards to pay for it. Cas would have paid him back, of course, as soon as he acquired money. In fact, he’d’ve looked forward to it—returning a favor by a friend seemed a very human thing to do.

His stream of thought was interrupted by the big demon grinning and dragging a knife down Cas’s chest, bringing with it a blazing line of pain. He found himself oddly more concerned about the damage to the shirt—which had cost him nearly five dollars at the thrift store—than about the pain, though the pain did make him grit his teeth and squirm in a way that only jarred his injured wrist again and made him grunt in an effort to keep from making a more piteous noise.

 _Dean is safe_ , he reminded himself, needing something to think about beside the undoubtedly uncomfortable times ahead. Clearly, it had been stupid of the demons to use him as bait for an unsuspecting Dean, when it was clear that Dean didn’t care about Cas’s well-being at all. Dean wouldn’t come to see him. He wasn’t even sure Dean would come to _save_ him, if he knew what was truly going on. It occurred to him that Dean only liked to help him when he could be useful, which as an injured and captured human he certainly wasn’t. As the demon dragged the knife down again, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus on the only thing that mattered, repeating the words over and over in his mind. _Dean is safe. Dean is safe._ _Dean is safe, because I’m useless and Dean doesn’t care about me_.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been 24 hours. Cas knew this because one of the warehouse windows hadn’t been boarded up all the way, and a sliver of sky was visible. When he’d been strung up, it had been dawn, and he’d watched the sky go from a deep blue to purple-pink and then to paler blue. It had darkened again after what felt like at least a lifetime, and had stayed that way for another lifetime, and now it was brightening again.

Cas had thought, in his brief time as a human, that he had experienced most of the forms of discomfort a human could experience. He’d been wet and so cold his body shivered in great jerks and wouldn’t stop. He’d been so hungry that the emptiness in his stomach reverberated and intensified into pain. He’d felt just the opposite when the food he’d found—lying uneaten in dumpsters and trash bins—had left him nauseous and sick for days, his insides cramping like they’d been pinned together. He’d been knocked unconscious, crashed a car, been sliced open and beaten and broken. Each time, it had amazed him how viscerally humans experienced discomfort. There was no way to distance the mind from the body, as angels could distance themselves from the pain of their vessels. Humans simply _felt_ , and Cas had been coming to believe that he had felt just about all of the unpleasantness there was to feel. 

He’d been wrong.

Over the long hours the demons had enjoyed finding new ways to inflict pain, and had done so expertly with a tray of instruments that Cas never wanted to see again. They’d carved into his flesh, tearing long strips of it away from his body, down his chest and arms and thighs, leaving bloody streaks. They’d pushed knives into the soft flesh in his joints, and twisted them until he screamed. His right kneecap had been shattered, then smashed again and again until there was nothing left but a mass of pain, and then the demons had taken his leg and twisted it until his foot was turned all the way around. He’d screamed then too. Then they’d taken hot, glowing pieces of metal and pressed them to his body, holding them there until the flesh blistered and sizzled and started to smell so much like roasting meat that Cas’s empty stomach cried out for it. They’d casually smashed in his ribs, so that simply hanging from his hands was agony he could hardly bear. They’d done all of this, and more, and Cas had _felt_ it.

In the hours before dawn they’d left him to swing, perhaps concerned that any more damage would end his life completely. He tried to take the weight off his arms and shoulders using his good leg, but it was impossible to hold himself on his tiptoe for that long and he sagged, wheezing and trying to choke back the pathetic noises that his human body kept wanting to make.

He tried consoling himself by reminding himself that Dean had not come, would not come.  Somehow, as the hours and the agony dragged on, the thought didn’t bring him much comfort.

He was just beginning to think that perhaps the demons were going to leave him alone—it must have been hours, at least, that they’d left him swinging—when the warehouse door creaked open again. His heart leapt for the moment, an irrational part of him thinking _maybe Dean has come after all!_

It was all he could do to keep his eyes from leaking more salt water when the demons returned, wheeling between them another cart, with a new assortment of instruments.

Cas closed his eyes, shuddered, and reminded himself, _Dean isn’t coming. Dean is_ safe. As the demons tore into him again, the thought did little to stop more salt water from coming.

-

It’d been a long drive back from Idaho, nineteen hours with the construction blocking up I-80 near Cheyanne, but Dean had taken it in one go. After his encounter with Cas, he hadn’t been much in the mood to hole up in a motel room alone with just this thoughts for company. It’d been beyond weird seeing the angel (ex-angel) so proud of a job most high-school kids would scoff at. The angel of the lord he knew was better than that. Could _be_ better than that.

And he’d’ve been lying to himself to say that it hadn’t hurt to see how angry Cas had been at him when he’d arrived. If there hadn’t been a case, the little dude probably wouldn’t’ve talked to him at all. Not to mention, dropping Cas off on his non-date had driven the weirdness dial up to twelve, and left Dean with a sort of wistful-frustrated feeling he had no desire to explore any further. So, he drove, blasting every tape he had loud enough to drown out his thoughts, until his ears rang and he had that to think about, until he got back to Kansas.

He pulled in around 5 AM and immediately went to his room, tossed his duffel aside and fell asleep, not bothering to wake Sam to tell him he’d arrived. He woke up about twelve hours later to the smell of something delicious, and his brother watching him from his doorway with a bemused expression.

“Hey,” Sam greeted Dean, as Dean rubbed his face and looked blearily at the clock, finding that he had, in fact, slept through the entire day. “Made some dinner. You hungry, or were you planning on actually going into hibernation for the winter?”

Dean glared at him. Sam had somehow managed to insult him using _science_ , and that was just…extra insulting. “Yeah,” he grunted, pulling himself out of bed.

“So…how was Idaho?” Sam asked. “Did you see Cas?”

“Yeah, I saw Cas,” Dean said, finding that thinking about the ex-angel was no easier than it had been the night before. Still, as he followed Sam to the kitchen and they sat down to eat the enchiladas Sam had made, he filled Sam in on all that had happened. When that was done, they chatted a bit more. He was glad to see that Sam still seemed to be healing up well. Also, Ezekiel didn’t see fit to make another appearance, which was always good. It was nearly seven when he got back to his room and dug his phone out of his duffel bag and plugged it in to see if he had any messages.

There was only one.

“ _Hello, Dean. It was…good to see you. It would be…I would like to see you again. If you wouldn’t mind_.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at the name “Castiel,” and listened to it again. What the hell?

“Sam!” Dean called, feeling like he needed some sort of second opinion. On the one hand, it warmed him to think that maybe Cas hadn’t been as pissed at him as he’d thought, and that he hadn’t been just waiting for Dean to leave so he could go and keeping living his new Gas-N-Sip life without him. On the other hand…Cas had never said anything of the sort to him before. For years Cas had just popped in when he wanted to and disappeared when he wanted to be somewhere else, and while Dean knew the angel at least liked him and Sam, he’d never thought of Cas as the call-to-say-how-good-it-was-to-see-you kind of guy. Even last year, after Cas had come back from Purgatory—after all he and Cas had been through in Purgatory—Cas had ditched Dean and Sam without a second thought to hang around with the Looney Tunes guy. Which was fine. It was just Cas being Cas. For him, clinginess was _weird_.

But was it weirder than Cas working at a gas station? Or going on a date with some random chick? He sighed heavily, realizing that he just didn’t know anymore.

“What’s up, Dean?” Sam appeared in his doorway again, this time with a tub of some kind of health-food fake ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. Dean tried not to shudder at it—was that _soy_ ice cream?—and handed him the phone, making him juggle the ice cream and spoon to one hand.

“Listen to that message,” Dean said. “That sound weird to you?”

Obediently, Sam held the phone to his ear and listened, his brow creasing as he did. “What’s weird?” he asked, handing the phone back. “Sounds like he was glad you came.”

Dean told Sam what he thought.

“So, what?” Sam prodded. “You think there’s foul play here? I mean, he just said he wants to see you again.”

“I don’t know,” Dean growled, frustrated that Sam didn’t share his concern. “He doesn’t usually do this, you know. Call me, I mean. Not just to…to say that.”

“So why don’t you call him back?” Sam asked.

Dean blinked. “That wouldn’t be…I dunno…awkward?” he asked, feeling suddenly, and stupidly, self-conscious.

“No,” Sam said.

“Oh.” Dean gave him another quick glare, before dialing the phone. He just wanted to make sure Cas was okay. He hadn’t been _that_ affected by Cas’s cold shoulder in Idaho.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang, then went to voicemail. “Uh…hi,” Dean said, hoping he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt. “Got your message, just wanted to make sure everything was okay. And it was, uh…it was good to see you too. I’ll, uh, talk to you soon, I guess.” He thumbed the call off, feeling a little like his ears were burning.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sam smiled.

“Still something weird about it,” Dean said, ignoring him. “I’m gonna call the Gas-N-Sip. Make sure he showed up for work today.”

Sam’s expression sobered. “You really are worried, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” Dean snapped. “Sam, Cas was not that happy to see me. There’s no chance he’d just leave a message like that. He wouldn’t do that, even if he did want me to come back.”

When the chick from the Gas-N-Sip said Cas hadn’t shown up for work or answered his phone at all today, Dean and Sam climbed into the Impala and headed for Idaho. Ezekiel showed to whine about it but when Dean pointed out to him that there was no way he could convince Sam would sit this one out, he receded into silence again.

The message had come around six, when Dean had been fast asleep. So it had been more than half a day from Cas calling him that Dean had gotten it, and it would be another near-day until he could get back to Idaho. He gritted his teeth, and sped on.


	3. Chapter 3

Another twelve hours. By now, Cas was bleary with pain, and exhaustion, and whatever else. He wasn’t sure anymore. He could no longer separate the single points of pain from one another—there was nothing left in his reality but a haze of agony, with a few spots that pulsated with a little more vigor than the rest. He was vaguely aware that he was very thirsty, and that at some point along the line he’d relieved himself right onto the warehouse floor. A distant part of his mind thought he should be ashamed of this, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He wished they would kill him. So far, they hadn’t.

He’d begun hallucinating several hours ago. Sometimes Dean came through the door alone, and sometimes he came with Sam. Always, he’d rush up to Cas, concern written on his handsome face, and he’d start to undo the chains and tell Cas that it would be okay, that he was here to rescue him, that he’d never leave him again and they could all go back to the bunker and be a family again. Be together again. Sometimes, he disappeared into thin air. Sometimes, Cas realized belatedly that it was not Dean but one of the demons who had come through the door, and somehow that only made the pain that followed worse.  

There was a loud crash in the hall and he began hallucinating again. The door smashed open, the heavy bolt flying loose, and Dean ran across the room followed by Sam. “Oh, shit,” Dean said, then sprinted toward him, hands hovering as if he was trying to decide whether to help hold Cas up or take him down or just embrace him. Cas closed his eyes, willing the image to go away.

“I’ll hold him up, see if you can get the chain,” the hallucination of Sam said.

He must be getting closer to death, he realized. Normally, his fantasies never lasted this long.

“Careful,” Dean admonished, and then Cas’s awareness fled again as strong, trunk-like arms wrapped around him and started lifting so that the burden on his shoulders and wrists eased. It would have been a relief except that the movement also crushed his shattered ribs and jarred a dozen other injuries, and he cried out weakly as the pain spiked.

“Sorry,” Sam’s voice said.

“Damn it, Sam!” Dean snapped from across the room.

Then there was a loud noise—a gunshot—and the chain suspending Cas’s wrists slithered off the beam and fell to the ground, no longer tethered on the other end. He felt himself being eased down onto the hard floor.

Cas opened his eyes, and it occurred to him for the first time that he was really being rescued. “Dean?” he croaked. “Sam?”

He was vaguely aware of Dean coming closer to him and leaning down toward him, and saying…something…before everything around him faded to black.

-

Dean watched in helpless frustration as Cas’s eyes slid shut again and his head lolled. The ex-angel looked worse than Dean had ever seen him—ever seen anyone, quite possibly—and Dean was pretty amazed he’d been lucid at all.

Sam was trying to check Cas’s injuries but it was clear they had no time for that. Cas was slipping. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps, and he was the color of putty…where he wasn’t covered in pints of blood. First aid wouldn’t help him, and Dean guessed not even a hospital could at this point. Cas needed a miracle.

“Ezekiel,” Dean barked.

Sam looked up from checking Cas’s pulse, perplexed. “What?”

Dean clenched his teeth and took a sharp breath in through his nose. “Ezekiel, _now_.”

Sam’s face shifted imperceptibly as the angel emerged. “You know I cannot help you,” Zeke said, managing to sound as pissy as Sam ever could. “I cannot reveal my presence to Castiel.”

“Who said anything about revealing your damn presence?” Dean asked. He was on his knees beside Cas, and found one of his hands and clutched it. The other hand he used to cup Cas’s face, caressing his cheek lightly with his thumb and not even thinking about it. “You saved his life before. Do it again.”

“And how will you explain the miraculous healing to him, this time?” Ezekiel asked sarcastically.

“I don’t care,” Dean gritted. “Just do it. Doesn’t have to be every scratch, please, just save his life. Please.”

Ezekiel gave him a Bitch Face that even Sam would have been proud of, before waving a hand over Cas’s body. Cas convulsed slightly, then lay still. He still looked awful, battered and bruised and covered in blood.  

“I will do no more,” Ezekiel said. “His most life-threatening injuries are healed. He will survive, assuming you provide him with additional care.”

“’Course,” Dean said roughly.

Sam blinked, and then shook his head. “Whoa! Guess that demon clipped me harder than I thought on the way in, I totally just zoned out.” He blinked a few more times, then kept taking Cas’s pulse. “It’s…he feels steadier than he did a few seconds ago.”

In fact, Cas was starting to open his eyes and peer up at them with confusion. Dean gave Ezekiel a silent, mental _thank you_ , and leaned over Cas, realizing belatedly that he was still clutching Cas’s hand in his. He didn’t let go.

“…Demons,” Cas croaked. Sam had already picked up his angel blade and gone to check the door again. “…Dean?”

“I’m here, Cas,” Dean said, wishing he could think of something a little less obvious to say. “And we’re getting you out. We killed two demons on the way in here but the other one smoked out. It’s okay, though, we got you.”

“It’s…okay…” Cas repeated, smiling slightly like the words meant something special to him. Then his smile faded. “Didn’t think…” he paused and bit his lip as a wave of pain coursed through him, his fingers tightening around Dean’s. “…Didn’t think you’d come.”

“’Course I did,” Dean said. “Second I realized you were in trouble, right Sam?” Sam nodded from across the room.

“In trouble,” Cas echoed, his blood-speckled brow creasing to a frown. “You knew?”

“Figured,” Dean said. “Since when’ve you ever called to say you want to hang out?”

Cas closed his eyes. “You wanted me…to leave…Dean. The bunker. I thought… you didn’t want me. Didn’t think… you’d come. Didn’t think… you cared…” he trailed off, his breath jerking, then added, “thought…I was… protecting you. That you wouldn’t…come. To see me.”

Studying Cas’s face, Dean noticed that from the corners of his closed eyes tears were tracking their way down each side of Cas’s face, turning pink as they carved a line through the dried (and not so dried) blood and sweat coating his cheeks.

“Dean, we gotta get him out of here,” Sam said, his voice cutting through the deep well of guilt Dean already felt himself descending into. He’d never thought asking Cas to leave was something the angel would take so personally. Would take to mean that Dean didn’t want him or like him or even care about him. Cas had always come and gone, had always spent most of him time away from Dean and Sam. What did it matter that he’d been human?

Apparently, it mattered enough. Even Cas’s apparent anger toward him when he’d visited made more sense. It wasn’t just that Cas had been pissed, which Dean would have understood. Cas had been _hurt_.

“Yeah,” Dean said, then leaned down impulsively and kissed Cas’s forehead, a quick peck like a parent might give a child. Sam raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. “Cas, we’re gonna get you patched up then you’re coming back with us, you hear me? Back to the bunker. All be together again.”

Screw Ezekiel. He’d just have to deal with Cas being there. Dean wasn’t going to leave him on his own, not after this.

Dean was in the process of gathering Cas up in his arms to haul him up when he realized that Cas’s tears had started coming in earnest, again, as if Dean’s words meant something to him. Dean paused in his efforts while still on his knees, and hugged Cas to him, cradling his head. Just trying to _be there_ for him, for whatever little it was worth.

 “Dean,” Sam said sharply.

Dean snapped his head up, suddenly alert.

“Demon’s back,” Sam added, then moved into position just out of view around the door.

It was the demon chick, striding down the hallway with an oddly put-out expression. She stopped right before the doorway and glared at Dean and Cas.

Somewhat lost for words, Dean stared back at her.

“She doesn’t even _want_ you!” the demon complained. “I go through all of this trouble setting an _ingenious_ trap for Dean Winchester. Thought I’d curry favor, maybe move up in the ranks a little, and Abbadon just says she could hunt you down and kill you anytime she wanted.” She sighed sharply. “ _And_ , I’m supposed to let you all go.”

“Uh, okay,” Dean said, trying to motion to Sam with his eyes that he should stab her anyway.

She walked forward, and he did.

-

Cas became aware in increments. First there was an odd, floaty feeling. The sensation of softness. A persistent bleeping from somewhere near his head. The unpleasant smell of antiseptic. He opened his eyes, marveling at how little pain he was in…relatively, anyway. His leg was suspended in a complicated looking hammock thing. He was, apparently, in a hospital.

And, in the chair across the room, curled up in an extraordinarily uncomfortable-looking position, was a softly-snoring Dean.

The events of the past few days came rushing back to him, along with more than a little disbelief. He’d been captured, strung up, and tortured. He’d called Dean and asked him to come in an attempt to keep him away. And Dean, somehow, had come anyway, but only because he couldn’t believe that Cas would ever call him and ask him to come.

For a few moments, it seemed beyond funny. (Some sensible part of him realized that this was probably a result on whatever medication was making him feel so floaty.) Whatever the reason, he started chuckling to himself, and didn’t stop until the noise make Dean jerk and sit up, glancing around then feeling at the crick in his neck.

“Cas!” he said, getting up quickly and coming to Cas’s bedside. “You’re awake. Awesome. How do you feel?”

“Floaty,” Cas answered honestly, then got down to business. He remembered something else from his rescue, but he still couldn’t quite believe it. “Dean. You said. When you found me. You said I could come back? With you?”

The question hadn’t quite come out as smoothly as Cas had intended, but Dean’s face eased into a smile anyway.

“Yeah,” Dean said, taking Cas’s hand (the one that wasn’t encased in a new white cast) and squeezing it like he had in the warehouse. “You’re coming back with us again. And I swear, Cas, I’ll never make you leave again.”

Cas felt himself smiling, a new feeling seeming to buoy him up from the inside. He’d thought that, along with the physical sensations, he’d felt just about all of the emotions that a human could feel, as well, but apparently he had missed one. He felt his eyes filling with salt water again, and blinked it away. He could feel the ball of Dean’s thumb tracking gently over the skin of his hand.

“Cas?” Dean asked, peering at him. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Cas said, then swallowed and blinked again, wanting this new feeling to last forever. “Yes, Dean. I’m _happy_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story as I'd written it, but I'm considering adding another chapter (a little heavier on the comfort) that takes place after Dean and Sam take Cas back to the bunker. What do you think?


	4. Epilogue Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand (and mostly because I wanted to write it), here's an epilogue with a bit more Cas comfort and Destiel. I meant to write a single chapter, but the characters insisted on doing it this way instead. Enjoy!

Dean sat in the hard, plastic chair he’d pulled up to the side of Cas’s bed, chin in his hands, and watched Cas sleep fitfully. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that as creepy as he’d thought it when Cas had done it to him so many years ago, he’d found it hard to do much else for the last week.

Even in sleep, the ex-angel was pale and thin, and every inch of exposed skin was a patchwork of bruises, scabbed-over cuts, and dark stitches. One arm—the one he’d hurt during his fight with Ephram, which Dean hadn’t even noticed—was still in a cast. He’d already had one surgery on his knee, which had been a shattered mess, and the doctors said they anticipated he’d need another in a couple of months. Cas winced every time he moved, even in as he tossed and turned his sleep, and there were always dark circles around his eyes. 

He slept a lot.

The doctors had explained it to Dean patiently. Even though Cas’s injuries were healing about as fast as could be expected (the doctor had also said something about an immune system compromised by months of malnutrition and not enough sleep, which made Dean's gut clench with guilt), Cas needed rest. 

Which was all fine and good, except that it gave Dean an awful lot of time to think. Especially since he’d spent most of the week there alone. Although Sam had stayed by Cas’s side during the first few days, when he’d still been in the ICU, Ezekiel had put up a royal bitch fit and so Dean had convinced Sam to head back to Kansas by bus. They’d need to get the bunker set up for an injured guest, Dean had argued, someone had to keep tabs on any cases that might arise.

He had the strangest feeling that Sam hadn’t bought any of it, but his brother had nevertheless clapped him on the shoulder and said with a knowing smile, “Sure, Dean. You stay with Cas.”

He hadn’t dared take Cas’s hand like he had that first day. It had been, he convinced himself, one of those things you do when anyone you care about is going through a rough time, something that you’d never do otherwise. But the idea of it had been nagging at him, and he’d caught himself staring at Cas’s hand and thinking about reaching out more times than he cared to admit.

The simple truth was, he felt something for Cas. A tug deep in his chest, and maybe somewhere else too, that surfaced each time he looked at Cas and thought about what he’d gone through and how strong he was and how he deserved so much better. It was coupled by a near-overwhelming urge to just be close to him, to take him up in his arms and protect him from every damn evil thing the world had to offer.

He was pretty sure he knew what all that meant, but it was hard to even think the word, even in his own head, where no one could possibly think the worse of him for it. Where, more importantly, Cas couldn’t hear it.

What were the chances, after all, that Cas felt the same (unspeakable) thing? First thing Cas had done after going human was bang some random chick, who admittedly turned out to be a reaper. Then he’d gone after that Nora lady. Point was, even if Cas was interested in… any of _that_ …he wouldn’t want it with Dean.

Dean let out a breath and scrubbed his hands down his face. Wasn’t the first time he wanted something he couldn’t have. But it _was_ the first time he’d had wildly inappropriate feelings for his best friend, who would probably freak if he ever found out and never want to talk to Dean again.

His best friend who he’d already failed in about every way possible.

As he dropped his hands and raised his head, determined not to go down that mental road again, he realized that Cas was awake and blinking at him.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said as soon as Dean’s eyes met his. “Did I fall asleep again?”

Dean nodded, letting a little smile play on his lips. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Cas added. “I know, it must be boring. Sitting here all the time. You can go back, you know. I’m fine.”

Since his ordeal, Cas had been very worried that Dean would be upset at him for sleeping too much, no matter how many times Dean told him it wasn't a big deal. 

“It's okay, buddy. Really," Dean said, trying to offer a smile that could show Cas how much he cared.

In the moment of semi-awkward silence that followed, he glanced at Cas’s good hand again, itching to take it in his own. He could deny what it really meant. It wasn’t like Cas got all the human stuff anyway. If Dean said it was just a friend thing he’d probably buy it. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Wasn’t worth the risk.

“Dean," Cas said finally, "I don’t want to be a burden."

“You’re not,” Dean said immediately, feeling like a very inadequate broken record. He wanted to convey the depth of his feeling—the deep in the gut feeling—but somehow the words that actually came out were never enough. “Really, Cas, I promise. There’s… you’re not a burden. You're never a burden. Okay?”

“…Okay,” Cas said, very unconvincingly.

Cas’s unsure tone, coupled with a new grimace of pain, left Dean feeling like the worst friend in the world.

After a moment of indecision, he reached out and rested a hand on Cas’s arm (not the same thing as holding his hand, he'd decided). He felt the muscle move under his fingertips as Cas tensed. The ex-angel had also been pretty twitchy over the last week, as if he were afraid that any sudden movement would hurt him again. The doctors had said that was normal, too.

Offering a soft smile, Dean squeezed his arm reassuringly, and tried not to think about how it would feel to slide his hand up the warm skin of Cas’s arm and cup his face, then lean in and…

He was crazy. He was friggin’ crazy, and he was probably going to Hell. Again. It wasn’t just that Cas was a dude, which was, admittedly, a hard thing to wrap his mind around. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t…noticed the odd guy before, or had a few vivid dreams he’d tried very hard to scrub from his memory the next day. No, the really hard thing was that it was Cas.

Cas, who was still looking at him with that damn kicked puppy expression. Dean realized he’d been lost in his own thoughts again for a bit too long.

“Look. Cas,” Dean said. “I screwed up, okay? I shouldn’t have told you to leave. It was wrong and you have no idea how sorry I am. I don't deserve forgiveness, but hell, Cas, when I thought I’d lost you…” He trailed off, not sure what exactly had prompted the apology aside from the fact that it was one of the few things in his head that he  _could_ say out loud.

Cas’s lips pressed together, in another surge of pain or maybe disapproval at Dean’s apology. But he only said, "I forgive you, Dean. Of course I forgive you."

“You shouldn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas said, then swallowed a sudden yawn. “Dean. If I could ask a favor?”

“Anything,” Dean said immediately. Maybe a little too enthusiastically, but he figured at this point, a little over-enthusiasm wasn’t a bad thing.

Cas glanced at Dean’s hand still on his arm. Dean followed his gaze and pulled it away like he’d been burned. He rested his hand on his own knee, fingers splayed wide, as if to show that it wasn’t about to do anything else untoward.

“Never mind,” Cas said quickly.

“Whatever it is,” Dean said, frustrated that Cas was pulling away. He deserved to be taken care of, damn it, and Dean wanted to be the one to do it. “Just tell me. I’d do anything for you, man. Really. Whatever you need, you just say the word.”

He was babbling. He hated babbling. He held Cas’s gaze and just hoped the ex-angel took his words to heart.

“In that case.” Cas sounded embarrassed, and glanced at Dean briefly before tilting his chin down addressing the blankets covering his chest. “Could you come closer? Feeling your touch… it helps me remember that I’m not alone. Not…back there. When I close my eyes, I mean.”

Though he said the words as neutrally as he could, Dean could hear the tremor of fear in Cas’s voice. His heart went out to him, somehow even more than it had before, but he also couldn’t quell the little thrill of excitement or the voice in the back of his head that said, _Closer? How much closer?_

He had to remind himself forcefully that there was no way Cas felt what he did, and that telling Cas would jeopardize their friendship, and that was the last damn thing in the world he wanted to do. 

What he said out loud was, “Of course, man. Uh. Where do you want me?”

Cas’s wide eyes met his, and he looked so surprised by the answer Dean felt another stab of guilt. Cas should know that he could count on him. Shouldn't come as a surprise. 

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Cas said hesitantly, still staring at Dean intensely like he was trying to read his mind. “If you’d rather leave, I would understand.”

Back to that again. Dean suppressed a sigh, then stood up, pushing his plastic chair backward. He perched carefully on the edge of Cas’s bed, watching his face carefully to make sure he didn't jostle his injuries too much as he weight dipped the edge of the mattress. He could feel Cas’s good leg under the blanket pressed up against his hip.

He glanced at Cas’s hand again. Cas had said he wanted him closer...

Taking a deep breath, he rested his own hand on Cas’s and squeezed it, ignoring the shiver of excitement that shot through him. Now was not the time. He just had to make sure Cas was comfortable and okay.

“This better?” he asked.

Cas nodded, infinitesimally, doubt still playing across his features.

“Too much?” Dean hazarded, realizing that if something was wrong, or if he were uncomfortable, the chances of Cas actually volunteering that information were pretty damn slim. He felt another stab of guilt.

“No,” Cas said, shaking his head a little more emphatically, the doubt shifting to fear. “No, Dean. Please don’t go. Thank you.”

But he still didn't look happy.

“Not close enough, then?” Dean asked, determined to find out what was actually bothering Cas this time. It wouldn’t make up for leaving him cold and alone and homeless, and at every demon’s mercy…but it was the least he could do. 

Cas was utterly tense, his eyes saucers. “Dean, I understand that you would not want to that. I wouldn't ask it of you.”

“Why not?” Dean asked.

“Your personal space,” Cas said stiffly. “I am aware that you value it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

It was enough of an answer for Dean. 

Wondering vaguely if he was going to regret it for the rest of his life, Dean swung both legs up onto the bed so that he was lying flush against Cas, and propped his head up on his free hand so that their faces were inches apart. Cas twisted his head to look at him, and the expression of alarm on his face was so intense that Dean almost got up right there. But Cas was now gripping his other hand tightly, as if to hold him down.

Dean could hear a nurse bustling around outside and felt a distant pang of embarrassment—he was in bed with a guy, what would other people think—but mostly, he couldn’t stop staring at Cas. His heart was thumping.  If he just leaned in a couple inches, he could press his lips to Cas’s, and…

…and ruin their friendship forever.

“Is this okay?” he asked instead, just hoping he didn’t get too excited _down there_. He had to bend his knees slightly to keep his booted feet on the bed and not in the way of Cas’s leg apparatus, and that meant that Cas’s good leg was very close to being slotted between his.

Cas was still staring at him like he’d grown a second head. He opened his mouth once or twice before finally answering haltingly. “Y—yes. Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, dude,” Dean said honestly. He caressed Cas’s hand lightly, hoping it came off as a comforting gesture and not a come on, as down there gave a little twitch.

Cas’s shoulders finally relaxed as Dean ran the ball of his thumb across the smooth skin on the back of his hand, and his wide eyes narrowed to a more normal, Cas-like expression. An almost... content expression. And then he yawned.

“Still tired?” Dean asked.

“I’m fine,” Cas said quickly, forcing himself to straighten a little more and wincing. “I won’t fall asleep again.”

“It’s okay,” Dean said softly. Somehow, the words came easier from this position, and he trailed his fingers lightly up Cas’s arm, then down again, to interlace their fingers. Cas shuddered slightly under the touch, but not, Dean thought, in a bad way.

Then he had to shift to put a couple more inches of space between his hips and Cas’s.

“Really, Cas,” he went on, finding it hard not to smile when Cas gripped his hand back. Somehow, this all felt right, like nothing had before. It didn’t matter that this was as far as it could go. He was damn lucky to have Cas here, at all, alive and nestled against him. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay here as long as you want. And I won’t let anyone hurt you.”  

For a moment, Dean thought he’d really screwed up because he could see tears in Cas’s eyes. Then Cas smiled, not a toothy smile, but the kind of genuine, heartfelt smile that melted across his bruised face and softened it. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Of course. How many times have you watched over me? I’m returning the favor,” Dean said. There was a warmth in his chest that made the words easy. But again, he realized, he was just talking around the one thing he actually wanted to say. The source of that warmth, and of that persistent desire to lean forward and kiss Cas gently, then pull him closer, running his hand through Cas’s hair while he--  _stopped thinking about this._

Cas nodded, the motion ruffling his hair against the pillow and making him look deceptively young. Then he sighed, and turned his torso slightly so that he was curled into Dean’s chest as much as he could be with his leg still hanging from the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He was still clasping Dean's hand in his own like a lifeline.

It was as if time stopped. For an interminable moment Dean wanted nothing more than to dip his head down and give him that kiss, then wrap his arm around him and press their bodies together. He didn’t move, though, and within minutes he could tell by the gentle rise and fall of Cas’s chest that the ex-angel had drifted into sleep again. And for the first time since they’d rescued him, Cas's sleeping face was peaceful. 

Dean stayed in that position long past the point where his hand and elbow went numb from holding his head up, watching Cas sleep. Eventually, he shifted slightly, snaking one arm under Cas’s pillow so that he could rest his head on it too. The other hand, he kept entangled in Cas’s.

Cas smiled in his sleep. And Dean, for the first time, let himself think the words that had been so hard to form: _Cas, I love you_.

He could never tell him, of course. For Cas, this was all about comfort, safety, chasing away the nightmares. But maybe, just maybe, it could be enough for Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue Part 2: back to the bunker!


	5. Epilogue Part 2

Dean wasn’t sure whether the next few days passed slowly or quickly. Cas was spending more time awake, but still wanted Dean nearby. Touching, preferably. Though the nurses had told him he wasn’t actually allowed to sleep in the bed with Cas (their knowing smiles making his ears burn), he’d managed to spend a few more hours here and there lying on top of the covers with Cas nestled up against him.

On the one hand, it was great. He knew he wasn’t going to have this much intimacy with Cas, probably ever again. And so he savored every moment he got to spend with their fingers entwined, or Cas leaning up against him, or his hand in Cas’s hair. It also seemed to be doing Cas some good. He seemed a little more sure of himself, and a little happier too. (It was hard to tell, though. Dean had never really seen Cas _happy_.)

On the other hand, it was incredibly frustrating. He wanted more than the occasional touch here or there. He wanted Cas to be his, to hold him and touch him even when things weren’t so bad.

He had to remind himself over and over that whatever it seemed like, no matter how Cas wanted to be near him now, that Cas did not feel the same way. That, in all likelihood, Cas never would. And even if he did, it would be really screwed up of Dean to make any sort of move on him after all the shit he’d just gone through.

All in all, he was both a little disappointed and a little relieved when the doctor finally told Cas he was cleared to go home.

Cas had thanked him, stiffly, before slumping and avoiding Dean’s eyes the second the doctor left.

“What is it?” Dean asked.  On a whim, he reached out and touched Cas’s chin with his hands, tilting his face up to meet Dean’s eyes. It disturbed him a little how easy such an intimate movement had become over the past few days. He’d have to get used to reeling it in again once they were back at the bunker.

Cas cleared his throat, but kept his lips pressed together. The split in his lip was mostly healed now, but the bruise at the corner of his mouth was just reaching the stage where it turned all sorts of purples and yellows. Dean resisted the urge to run his thumb over it and dropped his hand.

“You gotta talk to me, man,” Dean said.

“I am free to go home,” Cas said, in the same stiff, formal voice he’d used on the doctor. “Dean, what you said weeks ago… about… about taking me with you…”

As he trailed off, staring awkwardly at the bedspread in front of him, Dean realized just what his problem was. “You’re coming back with me,” he said firmly. “Hell, even if you wanted to go back to that gas station, I wouldn’t let you. You gotta heal up, and Sam’s got the place all ready for you, you hear?”

“Yes,” Cas said, his eyes shining. “Yes. Thank you. I won’t inconvenience you. Much. Also, I don’t eat very much, I think, and I can pay you back after for the food. Is that all right?”

“Oh my God,” Dean groaned, “Cas. What part of _I_ want you there don’t you get?”

Cas stopped short, then seemed to choose his words carefully. “When I first lost my grace I had thought that I would be allowed to stay with you. I admit that I don’t entirely understand why you asked me to leave in the first place.”

For a long moment, Dean considered telling him everything.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he said.

“You’re not an idiot,” Cas told him.

“I am.” Dean took Cas’s hands again, feeling the warm, callused skin of one palm and the scratchy cast covering the other, and stared at him straight in the eye. Cas jerked in surprise. Still, it was as if Dean couldn’t stop himself. The phrase _now or never_ seemed to be echoing distantly through his mind. “I should never have told you to go. There is no one who wants you around more than me. Cas, I—I care about you, I mean I really—I would do anything for you.” _I love you_. But those words were never going to come. They never could.

“So let’s blow this popsicle stand, huh?” Dean added.

Cas nodded, but didn’t answer.

It took them a little while to get all of the paperwork and Cas’s medications and the wheelchair—which thankfully, Dean’s borrowed insurance covered—figured out. By the time they’d gotten Cas in the wheelchair, and had everything in order, the ex-angel looked utterly exhausted, and his face was pinched in pain.

“Doin’ all right?” Dean asked. He was finding it impossible not to check in every few minutes, and he couldn’t tell if Cas was exasperated with him or if he appreciated the thought. Each time he told him the same thing.

“I’m fine.”

But as Dean finally wheeled him out into the sunshine, he could see that Cas’s jaw was clenched and his good hand was gripping his thigh tightly just above where the thick line of the cast was visible through the sweatpants he was borrowing from Dean. 

Getting him into the Impala was another ordeal. Cas had to keep his leg elevated, and he couldn’t bend his knee. His ribs were still in bad shape, and changing positions, even slightly, still made his breath hitch. Every other inch of skin was either bruised or cut or burned, and the doctors had used phrases like _ligament damage_ to describe what had happened where the demons had driven sharp blades or pokers into Cas’s shoulder, elbow, and other joints. For the first few days, especially after he’d started cutting down on the meds, Cas had barely been able to move at all without tears coming to his eyes. A week and a half later, he was healing, but he looked like hell. Still, Cas had insisted he was ready to go, and that he would be fine heading back in the Impala.

And so, Dean had borrowed a few blankets and pillows from the hospital and set them in the backseat of the Impala, where he figured Cas could sit sideways and stretch his leg out.

“Ready?” he asked Cas, positioning himself to help Cas up out of the wheelchair and into the car.

“Yes.”

So he hooked his arms under Cas’s and heaved, not quite expecting the strangled scream that Cas let out as his ribs shifted and his broken leg slid off the wheelchair and hit the pavement, or how Cas’s other leg turned to jelly and he sagged into Dean’s arms with a groan. Gritting his teeth, Dean dragged him the short distance to the open backseat of the Impala and, for lack of a better word, stuffed him in.

“What the hell, man?” he exploded without meaning to, as soon as Cas was on the seat.

“I’m—sorry,” Cas said haltingly. He was breathing hard and had turned roughly the color of milk under his bruises. His fists were clenched.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean said, embarrassed at his outburst. “Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?”

Cas gave him a look, which was either _I thought it was obvious_ or _Obviously I wasn’t going to tell you_. What he said aloud, in a raspy, pain-choked voice was, “I’m fine. I was merely—startled. Don’t worry about me.”

Sighing, Dean leaned over and started adjusting the pillows around him so that he’d hopefully be more comfortable. As it was, he was sitting at a slightly awkward angle and his good leg (good being a relative term) was hanging off the seat.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “I mean, I can take us back to the motel for a few days. Kansas is a good day’s drive.”

“Please,” Cas said quickly, his eyes widening. “I would like to go to the bunker. I won’t complain. Please.”

“That’s not…” Dean started, but dropped it. If he couldn’t convince Cas that he welcome, he’d just have to show him some other way. He leaned into the backseat and cupped Cas’s face and ran his thumb lightly across Cas’s cheekbone, ignoring the thrill that shot through him. Then he dipped his head and gave Cas a peck on the forehead.

His ears were burning as he pulled away and stood, but for the first time since they’d left the hospital Cas’s face seemed to relax slightly.

“Need anything before we hit the road?” Dean asked awkwardly. “I got a whole bottle of happy pills here with your name on them.”

Cas shook his head. “I’m fine.”

And so they set off. It was weird, Dean found, after days of being so often in close contact with Cas, to be separated even by the barrier of the seats for so many hours in a row. He found himself glancing in the rearview mirror every few seconds. Each time he did, he grew a little less sure that this was the right call. Cas looked like shit warmed over. He winced or gasped every time the Impala hit a bump in the road. His good hand was gripping his thigh again, while his other arm was wrapped around his chest. For long stretches of time, he’d close his eyes as if in concentrating on keeping the pain at bay. They stopped a few times, but Dean didn’t make the mistake of trying to pull him out of the car to get out. Cramped quarters, he thought, was better than whatever pain Cas would feel if they tried that maneuver again.

They talked a little, but honestly, Cas seemed too miserable to hold up his end of the conversation, even after he finally acquiesced to take a few pain pills. It grated on Dean and made him frustrated and unreasonably angry. Cas should have realized that it would be okay for them to stay a few more days in Illinois. And Dean should have realized that Cas wasn’t ready for a damn cross-country trip. That no doubt, he’d been so afraid that if he didn’t take Dean up on his offer to go to the bunker _today_ that he might not hear that offer again.

Eventually, thank God, Cas fell asleep.

Sam greeted them back at the bunker when they pulled in around ten in the morning the next day. It was a good thing too, because as it turned out, sitting nearly in the same position in the back of a car for eighteen hours was enough to make anyone stiff.

As carefully as Dean and Sam tried to pull Cas out and slide him into the wheelchair, it was clearly agony. His face clenched and he made gave a low, muffled groan that turned into a sob halfway through. The sound tore through Dean and made him want to tear every bastard responsible limb from limb…but of course the demons responsible were dead and the only other guy he could possibly blame was himself.

Back in the bunker, things got a little better. They transferred Cas to the bed in a room Sam had made up for him—more smoothly this time, thank god—and Sam started puttering. He poured a cup of tea for Cas and started heating up a bowl of soup, because apparently his idea of how to care for someone who was injured only involved hot liquids. Cas seemed grateful, though, if a little ashamed. Ezekiel didn’t show his face.

Dean loitered awkwardly in Cas’s room, not sure that his company would be welcome after eighteen hours together on the road, but so used to being by Cas’s side over the past week that he couldn’t think of anywhere else to be. Cas watched him warily, his eyes narrowing as Dean gave a mighty yawn.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Cas said shortly.

Of course, it was the same thing he’d been saying the whole week before he’d asked Dean to get a little _closer_.

“What if I want to?” Dean countered. That much was true.

“You have your own bed, now,” Cas pointed out, his voice tight. “I’ll be fine. I know that demons can’t get in here.”

Undoubtedly, Cas meant to sound reassuring, but all his words did was remind Dean that if he’d only let Cas stay, none of this would have happened. It was because of that thought that he answered a bit more sharply than he’d intended, “Shut up, Cas.”

Cas’s mouth snapped shut, and his face took on a blank expression that Dean was coming to realize was little more than a mask for the emotions roiling underneath.

So he said, a little more calmly, “If you want me to go, I’ll go. Otherwise, I’m staying.”

It looked like Cas wanted to say something. But apparently he was taking Dean’s directive to “shut up” a little too literally. A little spasm crossed his face but it was only a grimace of residual pain.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Dean said, frustrated with himself for screwing this up just like he’d screwed up the rest of it. The fact that he’d slept about ten hours over the last week combined, and not at all in the last twenty-four, was not helping his mood. “I don’t want to leave you, okay?”

Just then Sam came in with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, which he set on the night table in Cas’s reach. “Need anything else?”

Cas smiled slightly. “No, Sam. Thank you.”

Sam looked between Dean and Cas, apparently catching on to the fact that something tense was going down between them. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it, then,” he said. “But it’s really great to have you back, Cas. Really. And if you need anything, _anything_ at all, don’t hesitate to ask. Okay?”

“Okay,” Cas said.

When he’d left Dean was silent a few moments, feeling that he’d been thrown off course, and a little annoyed that Sam had managed to pack more caring and goodwill into about thirty seconds than he’d managed in the last week. The salty smell of soup filled the air, but Cas ignored it. Dean glared at the bowl, feeling irrationally that it was mocking him.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Cas admitted.

Dean was too surprised to react, but Cas went on.

“When I’m alone, I…I still…” Cas shuddered. “I don’t think I can stop feeling like I’m back there. Even here. And when I do, I keep trying to tell myself that you’re not going to come, and that it’s better that way. But I know, really, I know that it’s not. I wanted you to come, Dean, even though it was a trap. I wanted you there.”

Whether it was an effect of Sam’s hospitality or exhaustion from long, painful drive, or both, Dean didn’t know, but it was the most Cas had said about his experience since they’d rescued him. It made Dean’s stomach knot. He could too easily imagine Cas, strung up for days, trying to convince himself that it really was a good thing that Dean’s didn’t give a rat’s ass about him. And the way Cas said it—like he shouldn’t have hoped for a rescue—made it even worse. A sick feeling of mixed guilt and hatred rose up in him again. He _loved_ Cas. Cas meant more to him than just about any god damn person in the world (well, except for Sam, who didn’t count) and everything that had happened to him was Dean’s fault. He wanted to throw up. He had to do something.

So he did the only thing that had ever worked at all. He sat down on Cas’s bed and took his good hand in one of his own, cupping Cas’s cheek with the other. Cas’s eyes widened in surprise briefly before he relaxed into the touch. Emboldened, Dean pressed his lips against Cas’s forehead, then dropped his head so their faces were level and inches apart. It would be so easy to close the distance, so easy to kiss him like he wanted to, but he let the moment stretch out, his fingers still resting on Cas’s bruised cheek.

“Dean?”

“I know,” Dean said, but he didn’t let go. “Too much. I’ll back off, it’s just… I…”

There was so much he wanted to say, so much he couldn’t say. The tempest of emotions raged inside him, holding him motionless, unwilling to let go but unable to let any of it out.

Cas blinked at him. “Dean, are you…?”

“Am I what,” Dean breathed, unable to move. He could feel Cas’s stubble under his fingertips and longed for him. Now that they were finally alone, out of the hospital where they could be interrupted any second, he found himself leaning in against all his better judgment.

“No. I’m wrong,” Cas murmured, sounding more like he was talking to himself than anything else, despite the fact that their faces were inches apart. “I don’t know how to read human social signals. That’s why I was wrong about Nora. Dean, please just tell me what you want.”

He was starting to sound panicked, but Dean’s heart was hammering in his ears too hard for him to really care. So Cas was onto him. Finally. But did Cas want him to come closer? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t risk it, but he sure as hell couldn’t let this moment slip away.

“I love you,” he blurted, then drew back immediately because it wasn’t what he’d meant to do. He was Dean Winchester. He didn’t do this. Didn’t say those words to anyone, not even Sam, not even Lisa, not even his dad.

Cas blinked owlishly, and he seemed perplexed by Dean’s quick retreat as Dean had been by his own outburst. For several interminable seconds, neither of them said anything, and Dean began wishing desperately that he could disappear into thin air and never have to show his face around Cas again.

Then Cas spoke.

“I love you too.”

“What?” Dean said stupidly.

A classic Cas head tilt. “Is that…the wrong thing to say? I’m sorry. I thought you were. I was wrong. I should have learned my lesson from Nora, I know you didn’t meant it that way, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me—” As he spoke, his voice sped up, and the note of panic in his voice returned in full force, and Dean did the only other thing he could think to do.

He leaned forward and kissed Cas right on the lips.

It caught the ex-angel by surprise, since he was still in midsentence, but Dean was gentle and it was only seconds before the soft, warm lips beneath his were returning the kiss, parting slightly, sucking ever so slightly until _down there_ gave a mighty twitch of excitement. Dean pressed himself against Cas, mindful of his battered body, and let one hand roam through his hair while the other traced down his neck and shoulder and ribs, rough with bandages. Cas moved against him, slowly and gently at first, then harder. Then he stopped with a gasp.

“Cas?” Dean said, pulling away, flushed but worried. Cas had seemed into it but maybe he had gone to far, maybe this wasn’t what Cas really wanted, maybe after everything this would be the end of their friendship because Dean couldn’t keep it in his goddamn pants.

Cas was wincing, his face screwed up in a tight grimace.

“Cas?” Dean repeated, trying hard not to panic a little himself.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, relaxing his face with an effort.

“For _what_?”

It was Cas’s turn to be puzzled. “You were enjoying that. Weren’t you?”

“ _Yes_ —I mean, obviously,” Dean said, flustered. “Were you?”

Cas nodded. “I was. It’s just that I’m—I’m a little sore,” he finished lamely. “I’m sorry. It’s…it’s distracting. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Dean snapped. Some part of his brain, he recognized, was still screaming incoherently that this was happening at all, but somehow the rest of his mind seemed very much okay with it. And, better yet, Cas seemed okay with it. The relief that surged through him drowned out almost every other emotion. He cupped Cas’s cheek again, and dipped his head in to kiss Cas gently, his eyes closing. “I don’t need anything from you, man,” he murmured, and found that it was absolutely true. Cas knew that he loved him, and Cas loved him back. Not to mention, injuries aside, he was a damn good kisser. Obviously, he hoped there would be more of that in the future, but Cas healing was more important for the moment. They could take things slow. “I said I’d take care of you and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“You don’t have to—“ Cas began, but Dean cut him off with another gentle kiss.

“Course I don’t,” he said roughly. “I want to. You know I don’t throw that word around, man. I meant what I said. I—I love you, and I’m gonna be here for you from now on. Okay?”

“Okay,” Cas said. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out with his good hand and laced his fingers in Dean’s, and squeezed.

And, for perhaps the first time since he’d called the Gas-N-Sip and found out that Cas was missing, Dean felt like it actually was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes our thrilling tale! As always, comments are very much appreciated. :)


End file.
